#ficet

[shinigami-mistress]

OurCiel crying about his twin dying, feeling it should have been him instead, but ParentWill gives him words of wisdom that comforts him. Thus strengthing their bond.

Tears slipped down his face; one after the other and all following the same dirt streaked path. It was as if his heart itself had turned to liquid and was now streaming from his eyes. “This isn’t right,” he cried to himself, “It shouldn’t have been you.”

“Who should it have been?” a voice asked from behind him.

The boy turned around and blinked several times so that the image of the man that stood nearby became clear. He was a tall man with dark hair slicked carefully back from his forehead. Green eyes stared down at him - powerful eyes that shined with intelligence.

The boy didn’t answer at first. He just shook his head and turned and looked back at the ground. Although no body lay before him, it was clear that he was seeing someone in his mind.

“Who should it have been?” the man asked once more.

“M...Me,..” the boy choked. The words, the admission spoken aloud, caused more tears to rush to the surface, “It should have been me!”

The man knelt next to the boy. “Why would you say such a thing?” he asked.

“Be...because my brother was the strong one,” the boy said, “He...he wouldn’t cry...like this. And everyone....loved him.”

Reaching into his jacket, the man pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away the boy’s tears. “People loved you. They still do.”

“Not like Ci..not like my brother,” the boy said, as he leaned forward and clung to the man’s shirt. “They’ll ask me how I could survived and he didn’t. They’ll be...disappointed!”

Clumsy hands reached up to embrace the sobbing child. “I’m not disappointed,” the man said.

The boy became quieter as he seemed to process the words. “What do you mean?” he finally asked.

“I came here to rescue a boy,” the man replied, “A very strong boy. A boy who could survive unspeakable horrors.”

“But...”

“There are no buts,” the man interrupted, “I came here for you - the survivor. Never forget that. You have more worth than you have ever guessed.” Standing up, the man straightened his suit. “What is your name?” he asked.

The boy’s eyes blinked quickly as his gaze slid off to the side. “Ciel,” he answered.

“I see,” the man said, “Well, my name is William.” He held out his hand. “We need to leave this place.”

‘Ciel’ hesitantly took the offered hand. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“As I said, I’ve come to take you from here,” William replied, “I want to take you somewhere where you can truly understand your own strength...and the beauty of your own name and identity.”

Quietly, the walked away; their bodies fading into the distant as they stepped closer to the future that awaited them.

[doc-boredom]

a concept i’m too insecure to ask abt: matt n ryan are bfs right, but matt dies (or is already dead but either way he’s dead) and ryan can only see him on halloween or smth idk it just popped in my head while showering

“This is stupid.” Ryan mutters to himself as he lays out the ouija board. “This is stupid!” He says to the apartment then and it’s only silence that responds back to him. “Fuckin’ stupid.” He’s back to muttering to himself.

Lights dimmed, fingers resting lightly on the planchette. “Okay, um… dude, are you there?”

The landlord had joked that this place was haunted, but it was cheap and not an absolute piece of garbage so he signed the lease, not thinking anything of it. After all, ghosts weren’t real.

Until they were.

Small things at first. Salt spilling over, cups and cutlery missing, the radio turning on and off of its own volition. Things that he, for the sake of his sanity, ignored and passed of as coincidence. 

Until he woke up to ‘hello’ written in a script he had never seen before in the dust of his windowsill.

He had screamed and kicked his sheets up and had considered, in that moment, that he really ought to call the landlord and demand he be released from his lease but where else would he go? Okay, Magee, line up some apartment options and then, then you’ll go.

It was quiet then for a few days before it happened again, although this time it wasn’t a greeting.

It was an apology.

He had stared at it, bleary eyed and still half asleep before he tipped his head up to the ceiling. “It’s ok. Um… hi.” For a minute there was nothing and in that minute Ryan felt like a complete idiot.

But then the curtains rustled inwards and the lights flickered just so and holy shit there was a ghost in his apartment.

So that’s how he found himself buying a ouija board at Target. It’s cheap and tacky and there’s no way that whoever or whatever this is is going to respond. Maybe he was going insane. Wouldn’t that be great. Maybe it was just a drug house filled with poisonous gasses and his final act in life would be contacting the supposed dearly departed in the middle of his apartment.

He groans and shakes his head, moments away from pulling his fingers away when it happens. A pull, insistent. He watches in horror and fascination as the planchette pulls towards H and then I.

“Hi…” Ryan whispers in amazement.

M-Y N-A-M-E I-S M-A-T-T

“Hi Matt.” Ryan says a bit weakly. “Um, so uh… w-what’s uh, going on with all of this? Like, w-why are you a ghost, in my apartment?”

M-U-R-D-E-R-E-D 

“Oh. My God.” Okay, he’s going to be sick. The planchette feels hot under his fingers.

Y-E-A-H S-H-I-T S-U-C-K-S

“I mean yeah, d-dying would suck. So you were murdered in…in this apartment.” Oh God, the stain in the corner. He had uncovered it when deep cleaning. “Please don’t tell me it was the landlord.”

Blessedly, Matt pulls him right over to the NO indicator.

N-E-E-D Y-O-U-R H-E-L-P

“M-me!?” Just some chubby guy who was trying to start a Let’s Play channel on youtube who had a serious smoking problem. What the hell was he supposed to do!?

YES.

“Okay, with what.”

F-I-N-D T-H-E-M

a pause.

P-L-E-A-S-E

SOMEONE TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME BEFORE I START WRITING A WHOLE FIC FUCK

[littlelonghairedoutlawllho]

Lyric Meme: "Tenerife Sea" by Ed Sheeran "You look so wonderful in your dress I love your hair like that The way it falls on the side of your neck Down your shoulders and back" E/C because these two are my sinking ship and their small moments keep it afloat 💙

I love this so much I wrote a lovely, long Composer AU ficlet for it, featuring bonus Fabian and Mamma Valerius. I hope you enjoy!

E/C is everyone’s sinking ship and my heart breaks 10 times a day over them

And yay for Ed Sheeran! Galway Girl is basically everyone’s favourite song here right now.

It is quite beyond Erik’s grasp to understand how someone so tiny can talk so much. Quite beyond his grasp, but a true fact nonetheless. He knows he was not a talkative child - he can hardly be described as a talkative man for that matter - and if what Freyja has told him is anything to go by, then Christine was a quiet child too.

Fabian takes after neither of them in that regard.

“…and there was a little brown bird that hopped across the bench and he was tiny, Papa, and I wanted to pick him up and feel him but Uncle Far said I’d scare him and then the bird turned his head and he was looking at me, Papa! He was looking at me, and I was really still because I didn’t want to scare him and he was very nice but then some other boys went running past and he flew away and…”

The tumble of words flow over Erik, and he smiles at his son sitting in his lap, nodding at him even as his fingers fish his watch from his pocket. The moment Fabian sees the watch he breaks off about the birds and reaches for it with his little hands, curling them around the chain.

“What time is it, Papa? Do you soon have to go?”

Erik nods, and consults his watch a moment before gently disentangling Fabian’s fingers. “We will be going as soon as your Maman is ready. Now you’ll be a good boy for Mamma Freyja, won’t you? And go to bed when you’re supposed to?”

Fabian nods, his hazel eyes wide. “Yes! And Mamma said she would read me a story about little birds! Will you dance with Maman?”

Erik cannot help his smile getting wider.

“I’ll do nothing but dance with Maman.” It’s really the only reason he’s going to the blasted gala - to dance with Christine. He’s missed so many of them in the past that it wouldn’t matter if he missed this one, but he always does his best to make them with Christine. She loves dancing at these things, and he must confess that with her they are not nearly so tedious. His heart flutters at the very thought of getting to hold her in his arms, cradling her close and kissing her hair and her arms warm around his waist and so help him but he won’t leave her arms all night if he can help it.

Fabian is saying something, another rush of words that break off when the bedroom door creaks open and Erik looks up to see Freyja join he and Fabian, and a moment later, trailing behind her Christine.

His breath catches in his throat at the sight of his wife. She has not let him see this dress until tonight, hid it with Sorelli so that he would not stumble across it, and he is grateful now that she has. It is shade of pale lilac, with slight traces of blue that draw out her eyes, and her golden hair is twisted into a chignon, simple and elegant and beautiful and all the words disappear from his mind so that he can only gape at her.

Her eyes meet his, and she smiles, and his heart falters a beat.

“Maman.” Fabian’s soft voice breaks the spell of the moment, and Erik gasps a breath, his little son launching himself off his lap and running at Christine. Christine chuckles and leans down and sweeps him into her arms, and Fabian’s giggle fills the air. Tears prickle Erik’s eyes and watching them, his wife and his son, Fabian chattering at Christine and Christine smiling back at him, and it’s ridiculous to cry over such a thing but if he could he would capture this moment, and hold it forever.

“Erik.” Freyja’s voice is soft, and the divan shifts as she settles on it beside him, her eyes kind as she smiles at him. “What do you think?”

Out of the side of he sees Christine watching him, and he nods and smiles at Freyja, and smiles at Christine, Fabian still chattering, and through the tightness in his throat he whispers, “It’s beautiful.”

[gunshyvw]

Suddenly there were two toothbrushes in the cup by the sink, two mugs in the sink after a late breakfast with the newspaper (John) and computer (Sherlock). Two plates, too, and two forks. There were two pairs of shoes by the door when they were home, two coats hung on the coat tree. 

Of all the things in the flat that had suddenly doubled in number, though, one thing had not.

Now they only needed one bedroom.

[asksersavan]

[Fic-ish] Halls of Justice [2]

A continuation, a bit short admittedly…

Want to read the first part? You can find it in my fic digest thingie; http://asksersavan.tumblr.com/fan-stuff

— “Ser Bow…” Jasper’s green eyes darted around the courtroom for indications of reprisal, having spoken out of turn, “What are you doing? ‘Tis not the way of pawnlaw to hold human trials.”

"Perhaps it should be." Bow replied resolutely, however, upon noting the other’s confusion the Ranger elaborated; "We are tools… Weapons of the Arisen, to be guided by their hand. I’ve heard arguments between humans about such matters: A sword does not intend to kill a person, ‘tis the wielder’s intent that does. Also, ‘a bad workman blames his tools’ is a popular adage on the streets of Gran Soren."

"…" Jasper’s mouth opened, then promptly closed. He had no argument to chastise the Ranger with, beyond that it was ‘the way of the pawnlaw’ and, clearly, Bow had no interest in such a position; so the pawn fell silent.

Bow continued; “I know the pain of losing one’s master…” For a moment the Ranger’s steely eyes looked to a far off place; a private one that Jasper felt it would be impolite to intrude upon. “I know its dull ache all too well. My master was a rash one… And foolish too.”

"Ser Bow… you should not speak ill of the Arisen — of any Arisen!"

"My master would be the first to call himself both those things. No doubt he’d find my disparaging comments to be something of a novelty. He used to oft enjoy a good nagging from me…"

There was something about Bow that stood out in Jasper's opinion; a certain oft-sought quality in the pawn community. The closest word he could think of was ‘authenticity’, but it also extended to the more abstract concepts of ‘fluidity’ and ‘naturalness’, too. Things that a pawn lacked, but eagerly sought through emulation and study.

He found himself wondering all sorts of things, as irresistibly inquisitive as a pawn ought be, and before he could stop himself he asked;

"What makes you the way you are, ser?"

Bow ran a hand through his long black mane and mulled over the question, “What makes me the way I am? I’d of thought it to be the least of your concerns right now.”

Whilst it was a fair point, Jasper was persistent, “You’re avoiding the question Ser Bow…”

"Aye… You’ve the right of it." Bow laughed, "We’ve no time for idle chatter, for we must make a choice."

"A choice?" Jasper found choosing things a challenge, from armour to underwear; he’d relied on Kiltia to do all that.

A brief recollection of her, laughing and smiling at him, entered his conscious at the trivial thought. She had seemed happy, for the most part, yet all had ended in tragic circumstances. She was dead and he faced the brand, and exile; not that he particularly cared for his own safety, though he’d heard the brand was fiercely painful.

"Aye, a choice," Bow spoke in hushed tones, out of the earshot of the nearby guard, "We stay and plead your case, or we run."

"What?" For once Jasper had an answer, "I should stay so that justice can be done."

Bow sighed, perhaps a little disappointedly, “I thought you might say that. Fine, let’s battle it out in court then.”

"We shouldn’t fight the Ladyser, ser. Her magick is well fierce."

"Oh. You took that literally," Bow smiled, "I didn’t mean that, I meant a proverbial battle; a battle of wits."

"How can you not mean what you say as literal?" Jasper wondered, aloud.

"I’ve seen human folk bend words as often as I’ve bent arrows. Maybe that’s why?"

It was a poor reply, even by Jasper’s willing-to-embrace-all standards but he had no time to query it as the Judge’s chamber door opened and in marched 5 of the Hall’s most senior Judges, the wizened crone being one of them. Something about the row of ancient pawns, swathed in formal robes, seemed truly terrifying to Jasper. It was as though he was stood before a gathering of Lich’s who were ready to rend his flesh with their cruel magicks…

"We have discussed the matter," the Ladyser said, "And have come to a conclusion…"

—

To be continued…?

[asksersavan]

[Fic-(ish)] Halls of Justice

Yeah, I don't know... ----- "Do you understand the charges?" Asked the wizened pawn, who amongst their lot was accepted to be one of the most 'worldly experienced' and therefore worthy of the title 'Judge'. "Aye. I understand them, your Ladyser." The pawn, known to his master as Jasper and to his peers as 'murderer', was a plain pawn. His hair was a dirty golden shade, likely darkened by a spell in the Rift prison, and matted in wild curls around his strikingly angular face. His cheekbones were high and his nose slightly pointed at the base. His upper lip had a slight hook to it, something his master had referred to as 'a little beaky' but she didn't seem to mind either way. "Then, Jasper, you are aware that you have committed a truly heinous act of treason. That you have murdered one of the blessed few, an Arisen?" "Aye. I did." Jasper had no reason to lie. Though he'd seen plenty of humans do it to 'save their own skin', he thought it to be a strange endeavour as the human's skin always remained (whether caught or not). He'd not seen a skinless human in all his life, surely this meant that losing ones skin was a rarity? "Then I see no reason to delay matters further. You plead guilty to the cardinal sin of murder. You know the punishment, do you not?" "I believe it to be permanent exile... And, the brand." "Aye. You've the right of it, pawn Jasper, murderer of Kiltia the Arisen." Hearing her name stirred diluted feelings in his core. He repeated her name; "Kiltia..." "You've no right to say it." The wizened pawn, sat in her elevated seat, said. Her voice lacked the distain it would have undoubtedly held were she a human judge, but pawns were typically impartial to everything. Even murder. "... Aye." Jasper's head hung, he looked at his hands and the irons that hugged his slim wrists. On his right hand his pawnprint glowed dully, in the gloom of the Hall of Justice. The soft light reminded him of his master as he pierced her chest, her Arisen's scar. She had smiled warmly at him. And whispered to him; "'Tis over now, Jasper..." Yet, as she fell into his arms, it did not feel over. Indeed, it was not over. He had whispered "Stay with me..." to her as she bled in his arms. Though he had pierced her with the knife, he had not wanted to do it. "I did not want to kill her." His voice was soft, but it reached the wrinkled ears of the Judge all the same. "What?" Jasper continued, "I wanted her to live. I wanted to fulfil my duty to her, and the legion." "Yet here you are, with blood on your hands and no master. Precious few are permitted to travel by an Arisen's side, you squandered it." "Hold, good lady." A new voice filled the hall and all heads turned in unison toward it. Jasper vaguely recognised the man, of the Ranger vocation he believed, stood in the middle of two imposing doors. He thought his name might be 'Bow', as in the same he drew and shot arrows from. "And you are?" "I am Bow, I served the Lady Arisen and her Right pawn for some six moons near the end of their journey." "A witness to the crime, then?" "No, your ladyser. I did not see the moment in question, but--" "Then you are of no use to these proceedings." "BUT." Bow's voice rose a little higher, cutting off the Judge and causing a brief ripple of confusion, "I wish to represent this pawn." The Judge, who did not look particularly affronted by being cut off, now wore a confused expression on her crinkled face, "Represent?" "I've seen much of the human cities. There is such a thing as a fair trial. A chance to explain what happened." "To what end? His crime is known and he does not hide it. 'Tis as straightforward as all our business." "Then mayhap we are too straightforward." Bow replied, "This man deserves a trial. Did he not just say 'I wanted her to live'?" "What of it?" Bow looked at Jasper, the accused gave the Ranger a look of utter confusion, perhaps even fear, "'Tis not the words of a murderer with intent, is it?" The court erupted into confused chatter: Some onlookers agreed that it was out of keeping with a murderer's profile, others believed the Judge to be right. "Enough." The Judge held up her skeletal hand, adorned with magick rings, and silenced the hall, "This is highly irregular." "I know." Bow looked unashamed of his actions. "I will call a brief recess to discuss with my colleagues." The Judge promptly rose from her chair and walked towards the door that led to her chambers. The collective murmuring returned once she disappeared behind the heavy door. Bow approached Jasper. "Well met, Jasper. It has been a while." He offered, what Jasper thought to be, a realistic smile. ----- To be continued...?

[asksersavan]

[Ficet] - Another Beginning

Because I felt like writing... --- "If there is aught you wish to know afore my death, you need but ask." A question sparked in The Arisen's mind and it was asked thusly: "What is the Ur Dragon?" A thin smile spread over Savan's lips. Of all the questions, in all the world, this was what the Arisen desired? He looked up with weary eyes "Ah, you fought it then?" "I would have thought you would know. Have you not been watching the whole time?" "Aye. I watch but that thing is beyond my ken. I cannot influence it for it comes from another, troubled world and so I cannot see the goings on in its domain." "Oh." "Sit, Arisen, and I shall tell you the tale of the Ur-Dragon." The Arisen sat on the throne whilst Savan remained kneeling on the floor, "Wouldn't you prefer to sit?" "I am fine as I am," another weak smile graced his lips, "I thank you for your consideration, Arisen." "Okay,"The Arisen nodded, "Then tell me." "As you wish. The Ur-Dragon is akin to the Red Dragon that you have faced but older and more terrible. Originally 'twas a Red Dragon, originally it served faithfully at the start of the eternal chain. But like all Red Dragons, for all their power, they are fragile, as fragile as their Maker. I'll not bore you with the intricate composition of the Dragon. In short: 'tis made of a body and a spirit. The body is a failed Arisen and the spirit is an extension of the Seneschal's guttering, desperate will." Savan shifted on his knee, suddenly aware of his joints as they groaned in protest. He relented and sat on the floor, "The Ur-Dragon was the first and same as the rest, formed of an Arisen and a Seneschal's desperate will. The difference lies with what befell the Seneschal of that world. I heard the story of the first Seneschal from a bewildered pawn who claimed to have come from the 'first' world. This world, he said, was on the very brink of destruction and the cause was the Ur-Dragon itself. The Seneschal of the first world had not found a successor that could defeat him, he could not find someone worthy. The Dragon he had crafted was too mighty and shared in the Seneschal's arrogance and outlook. Neither accepted anyone else as worthy of the throne. The dragon consumed more and more Arisen's until it became bloated on its feast of hearts. The Seneschal, meanwhile, languished in solitude and started to lose himself to madness. I have no doubt that a Seneschal could be driven mad by lonely eternity..." The Arisrn peered at Savan who seemed to be momentarily lost in his own musings, perhaps reflecting on how close he had come to losing his mind, "Savan?" "Hm...? Oh. Forgive me, Arisen, I was merely contemplating my own time as Seneschal... allow me continue this story..." Savan ran a hand through his unkempt hair and gazed up at the brooding sky, "The Seneschal went mad. He wrought terrible curses on the denizens of his land, mutated many of the humans into monsters. He then banished these creatures to an ancient temple which he had created as a final proving ground for the Arisen, as none had defeated his dragon this place had fallen stagnant. That temple is what we now know as the 'Everfall' and it connects all worlds to the first world like a trunk connect branches and branches connect leaves... The Everfall came alive with the suffering of the monstrous humans. They yearned for a change and eventually they received it. But, 'twas not the change they had prayed for. The First Seneschal had lost himself completely to his depraved thoughts and allowed his dragon to devour him... However, such a deed can only be viewed as an act of patricide and in that instant the Ur-Dragon was cursed for consuming his father's flesh. His red scales turned grey and his body started to decay..." "So," The Arison looked at Savan with wide eyes, "The Everfall belongs to the first world...? The Ur-Dragon is the first Red Dragon...?" "Aye," Savan nodded, "You have the right of it. When a Seneschal perishes without a successor and the dragon yet lives, that dragon will become as the Ur-Dragon, growing in dark power as it consumes Arisen's to maintain its flesh. That is its role in context of the eternal wheel, to live outside of it and provide the greatest challenge and ultimate threat to life..." "Can the Ur-Dragon be killed, then? I thought I did manage to slay it..." "Sadly I know not if that beast can e'er know true death... I know it seeks the hearts of Arisen but that is merely to give it strength and a fleshy shield. It exists outside of, yet bound to, the eternal ring... Mayhaps we are not permitted to slay it?" Savan stood up and stretched before bowing to the Arisen once more, "If that is all you wished to know... I would plead that you bring me the end I crave..." The Arisen lifted the Godsbane Blade and looked down at Savan... -- End

[ask-dragonkin]

[Ficet] The tide ebbs - Grigori POV

Furious hot pain, red as my scales, floods through me. At long last I know defeat and it is as bitter as it is sweet. 'Tis strange to know an end at last, I'm not sure I am ready to die but I will embrace what e'er is to come with opened wings.

My conqueror stands afore me and looks as dumbfounded now as they ever have since we first did meet. I cannot help but chuckle. My mirth is short lived as a queer sensation courses through me and I know my death approaches. It sweeps over me turning my proud crimson scales to mud and ash. 

The hearts that have burned and throbbed so strongly in my chest abandon me and I am reminded of what coldness feels like. I look up to the brooding sky and grin as much as my kind are anatomically able to.

One thought persists in my mind: Are you happy, Savan?

In the last moments, as my body groans and readies to rot, I feel something some... spirit... escaping this fleshy cage. Perhaps that ‘spirit’ was what drove me to fly these lands in search of a mere man? Yet, I am a man aren't I? Yes, I recall it now. My taking up arms against a great red dragon. Fighting to the ends of the earth and beyond. Meeting Savan. Being defeated by him. Losing my humanity in favour of scales. Yes suddenly I recall it all well, ‘tis vivid in my mind.

I tormented so many afore this one. Drove them mad with grief, killed their loved ones, made them question themselves and, even, forced them to linger like a ghost in order to do my bidding and temper the promising hopefuls after.

Yes. I have played my part well. I have been the epitome of wicked and cruel.

  Have I not done well, Savan? Have I not served you absolutely?

  Forgive me, but 'twould seem I can serve no longer.

  Mayhaps this is the one to deliver us both from the clutches of eternal madness...?

Fare thee well, my Lord...

...

  And so, I become ashes upon the wind and all is plunged to oblivion...